Live To See Another Day
by Maestus
Summary: There are those who are underestimated and those who are overestimated; John Watson and Jim Moriarty are two such people. Because sometimes, Sherlock does get things wrong. AU; Sherlock/John, past Moriarty/John


**Hello fellow Sherlockians; this is my first venture into this fandom so I hope I've done the characters some justice. It's an AU so there are several things I should mention beforehand; firstly, John is a lot smarter in this than he's portrayed on the screen. Secondly, Moriarty is in fact innocent but I'm not saying any more than that in case of spoilers. (: Also, John doesn't see the therapist or anything like that, though he still visits Sherlock's grave. Sorry, I'm not doing a very good job of explaining things here; the best thing is to just read it I suppose.**

**This fic is divided into three main sections; several months before The Reichenbach Fall, several months after and then three years after. The title is taken from the Bee Gees song Stayin' Alive which I admit I have come to think off as Moriarty's song... Well that and the Vinnie Jones advert for the British Heart Foundation ;D**

**A BIG thank you to Baratsuki who was kind enough to beta this for me and point out some mistakes in Mycroft's characterization which I have hopefully sorted. (That man is a bother both on screen and off! I love him though; he's just an awesome character) Thank you, dear, for helping out an author in need!**

**Any mistakes left are completely my own and I apologise for any OOCness.**

**I would love it if you could drop me a review and tell me what you think, whether this story's good or bad etc... (:**

**I hope you enjoy!**

**XXX Raven**

* * *

><p>"You know, it really irks me how they only ever notice Sherlock and fail to see the other genius hiding within plain sight. Tsk, tsk, tsk."<p>

The soft voice took John by surprise, causing him to start before relaxing as a familiar figure emerged from the shadows, amused smile in place. Of all of the people who knew the two men currently standing before each other, most would be startled or even shocked to see them greeting each other warmly; after all, they weren't the sort you'd expect to see together in the same room without some sort of firearm being involved. One known as being a so-called "consulting criminal", the other an ex-army doctor, best known for being the proclaimed 'pet' of one Sherlock Holmes. But John Watson and Jim Moriarty embraced each other with a laugh, their embrace suggesting a relationship that went deeper than that of mere friends.

"You're looking well." Jim commented lightly, studying the doctor at arm's length. John sighed.

"I wish I could say the same about you. What does he want you to do this time?"

Jim's face fell and he slowly led John over to a table at the small nearby café, the pair seating themselves down and placing their orders with the waitress who immediately popped up like a jack-in-the-box, pen and pad at the ready. Moriarty kept his voice low as he leant in closer to John, tone hurried and filled with apprehension.

"He's not got long left; they say the cancer's spread and there's nothing they can do. He has a couple of months left at best." His hand rested on top of John's, fingers tapping out agitated patterns.

"But that's a good thing." John frowned before his face abruptly changed. "Of course; he won't go without a bang, exactly like Sherlock. What…what does he want us to do?"

Before Jim could answer, the waitress reappeared with their coffees, laying them gently on the table and giving them both a soft smile. They nodded their thanks.

"He doesn't want _you _to do anything this time, thank god." Jim murmured as John took a sip of his espresso, the supposed criminal stirring his own absent-mindedly. "It's all me this time; his bloody puppet."

"Like last time." John referred to their last encounter with the 'criminal mastermind: Jim Moriarty', noting the man wince at this. He was still repulsed at the thought that he had been forced to strap bombs onto his own friend.

"Yeah, only I reckon this time he plans for this to be…fatal." Jim didn't meet John's eyes; whether out of shame or despair it was unclear. "This is his most complex plan yet; the one he thinks will trump the great Sherlock Holmes once and for all. He wants us…_me _to strip him down to the very bone, make sure that everyone views him as nothing more than a fraud before… Well, I'll spare you the details."

"Oh." For a moment, both men were silent before John spoke again slowly; as though a sudden languidness had taken over his tongue. "You know, I miss just plain old Jim from IT. I miss what we used to have before all this happened. Before we all got involved in some insane criminal's plot to destroy _both _of my closest friends."

"Yeah; I liked being plain old Jim from IT, too. It was nice. It was _boring _and didn't involve having to act like some crazed psychopath, knowing that every moment might be your last, that _he _might decide one day that there are other _better _people he can use. I hate spending every day knowing that he might finally decide to erase the risk and kill you." Moriarty's grip tightened around John's hand and the doctor smiled sadly, bringing his other hand to rest on top of Jim's.

"How did we get here?" John murmured, stroking a finger over Jim's pale skin. "Trapped under the finger of a psychopath, unable to do anything for fear of him coming after us. You know, I spend every day wondering whether it's going to be the day that you die or, heaven forbid, he finally gets Sherlock."

Jim smiled sadly in return but said nothing, instead concentrating on the taste of his forgotten caramel latte on his taste buds and the feel of John's roughened palms against his own; as though they were literally grasping at this one shred of normalcy in a life that was filled with chaos and deceit. There were a few minutes of shared silence, both men simply concentrating on each other, gazing into each other's eyes.

"I'm going to die." Jim finally stated calmly, melancholy smile unfaltering. John nodded.

"I know."

"But then he's going to die as well, and then you and Sherlock will both be free, though I don't know if Sherlock will be as appreciative of that fact."

"But what about you? Why don't you deserve to be free as well? Who dictates that you deserve to die and that Sherlock and I don't when you are just as good as the pair of us?" John's voice rose as he grew more and more agitated, a familiar adrenaline-induced stillness becoming apparent in his hands.

Jim stared at him in reserved shock, the coffee cup tipping dangerously from his fingers, and an unanticipated numbness taking hold as he tried to understand why the man before him always sought to see the best in people."Think of everything I've _done, _John! All those people I've murdered…" He felt tears coming and saw his vision blur with them when John leapt up from his seat and hurried round to pull him into a hug.

"You didn't do _anything _wrong Jim! That wasn't you. That was that maniac who orchestrated it all! You're nothing more than a figure head, the man used as a front because he's too goddamn cowardly to show his face! Don't you _dare_ to blame yourself for what he did!"

"But… If I hadn't been such a coward myself- if I had just gone to the police the moment he started obsessing over Sherlock, then maybe none of this would have happened! All of those people would be alive. I could still just be Jim from IT, we could be _together!_ It's getting too hard to spend nearly every waking hour pretending to be someone I'm not, trying to play the part of mad psychopathic _James_ Moriarty, the man with the mind to rival that of Sherlock Holmes. I'm not a genius; I'm just an ordinary man with a talent for computers and a love for things he can't have."

"An ordinary man with a criminal mastermind for a father." John corrected quietly before remembering what had been nagging at him. "Earlier on, what did you mean by them 'failing to see the genius hiding within plain sight'?"

Jim laughed. "For someone so smart, you can be really dense sometimes, John. I was talking about how you have everyone fooled, even the Holmes brothers. When everyone else looks at you, they see nothing more than a moderately intelligent man, a soldier used to obeying orders who needs to be constantly instructed on what to do. They never see the man behind the mask, the man who knows James Moriarty's true face and is still pretending to be some ignorant fool simply to protect those he cares about. And you're so clever that it's possible no one will ever really know about it."

"You know, Jim." John pointed out with a smile. "Besides, that's the way I like it. I couldn't steal Sherlock's thunder; it would be like kicking a puppy, albeit one that will first sulk for prolonged periods of time and then go and dissect something foul in the kitchen to spite you." Both men chuckled at this, able to perfectly envision the dark haired consulting detective doing just that, and Moriarty swiftly pressed John's hand against his cheek, resting his head on the smooth and un-calloused side. They sat in the risky position for several minutes, during which Jim slipped out his phone and rested it on the table, flicking into a folder and touching something. The familiar beats of Stayin' Alive started up, Moriarty humming along in time to it and nodding his head against John's knuckle, John chuckling all the while. In the sense of the amusing side of their relationship, that was 'their song'.

"Will you promise me something John?" Jim asked unexpectedly, his warm breath huffing against the doctor's fingers. "When I'm gone, promise me you'll stick with Sherlock, no matter what happens or what he does. You're good for each other, no matter what some may say, and besides, I do know the way you feel about him."

"But…Jim, you know I couldn't do that to you. Or him. It would be a double-edged sword; I'd be leaving you for another and Sherlock because he would feel himself to be inferior. A secondary thought."

"You're a special kind of idiot, John Watson." Jim declared affectionately, his hand squeezing tighter around his closest friend's. "There never was any competition between Sherlock and I when it came to your feelings. He has always held your heart no matter what you say. I was just keeping it warm for him. So promise me that John, for me. Promise you won't give him up even if he tries to push you away."

"If he'll have me, I promise. "John whispered and Jim closed his eyes, nodding in satisfaction.

"Thank you."

They sat in silence until the Bee Gees thrummed to a halt; it was to be the last time they spoke before the real consulting criminal, James Moriarty Senior, ruined the lives of his son and John Watson alike.

~~~linebreak~~~

It was several months after the events on the rooftop at St. Barts before John could bring himself to speak to the one person he knew would be able to clear his Jim's name. But this time, he didn't bother phoning ahead or waiting for the man himself to get in touch; he just marched into the Diogenes Club and politely asked to speak with Mycroft Holmes, informing them that if they so much as considered ignoring him , he would kick up a fuss like nothing on earth and they would learn exactly how much damage a soldier could cause when he put his mind to it. Mycroft appeared surprisingly quickly after that.

"Ah, Dr. Watson; what can I do for you?" the elder Holmes asked calmly, leading John into his office and gesturing for him to sit down. "Brandy?"

The doctor shook his head, flashing a polite smile. "I'm here to talk about Jim Moriarty."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow but didn't seem to find this anything out of the ordinary. "I'm surprised it took you so long." He poured himself a glass of the aforementioned beverage and surveyed it thoughtfully before taking a delicate sip. John found himself unexpectedly angry with the relaxed air of the man before him.

"Tell me, Mycroft; did you really know anything about Jim Moriarty?" John asked venomously, his eyes cold as he surveyed the man who effectively ran the British government. "Did you know anything at all or was it all just guess work, little snippets taken from the big picture that you and Sherlock put together to create something so far from the truth that it was a bloody fairy tale?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand what you're insinuating." Mycroft constructed his sentence thoughtfully, recognizing a bomb just waiting to go off when he saw one. "Have you been to see a counselor? Surely you're still in mourning of my brother's death."

"If he were actually dead." John murmured under his breath before raising his voice, ignoring the shocked gaze Mycroft was directing at him and instead handing him a slip of paper on which was scribbled an address. "You'll find the real criminal, James Moriarty senior, at this care home in Kent; he's hours from death from what I've heard. He held on a lot longer than Mr. Moriarty the second and I had anticipated. All of the evidence you need to clear his name is there; phone transcripts, video footage, records. Jim was more than a commonplace office employee with a talent for computers; he was a genius by government standards when it came to technology and he knew what he was doing. "

"Well, this is certainly unexpected." Mycroft answered, glancing towards an unobtrusive mirror hanging on the faraway wall with a gaze that spoke volumes. He wasn't as composed as he usually was; this must have really taken him by surprise.

"There were two James Moriartys; James Moriarty Senior and James Moriarty Junior, also known as Jim from IT. Jim was a puppet used by his father, who by the time he discovered an opponent he viewed as worthy – Sherlock – was too frail to do anything physical. He knew certain...things about Jim and I that he used against us; he knew exactly who to threaten. Jim had no choice but he never laid a finger on _anybody; _that was all his father's work."

With an oomph, Mycroft sunk into the nearest chair, his fingers steady around his glass. "You're saying that we had the wrong man? Interesting... How did you become acquainted with Jim Moriarty may I ask?"

"We met at university, we kept in touch when I was in Afghanistan, we very nearly entered a relationship. But...someone else came along and then Moriarty Senior decided to put his so called genius to work. After that, the only relationship we had was entirely platonic. I want Jim's name cleared, Mycroft, and you can do that." John stared at the elder Holmes brother with steely eyes, his entire stance stating that he meant business. "There's something else bothering you, isn't there? You're not as good as Sherlock at concealing your emotions, no matter how easily you fool everyone else."

The politician raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed, and laid down the tumbler, calmly refilling it."Either Sherlock has rubbed off on you or I've been lax in my observations; you're much better at reading people than I initially thought. So how did you guess about my dear brother?"

"How did I know?" John snorted. "Jim and I figured he would try something like this; after all, there were a lot more than just Moriarty at work here. Sherlock was right when he described Moriarty as being at the centre of a spider web. So it was only natural that he would find away to disappear for a while and what better way than to fake your own death? Don't look at me like that Mycroft; is it that hard to believe that a Holmes can be fooled? Jim managed it after signs were obvious if you just looked close enough; it just didn't fit with Sherlock's character. If he were to commit suicide, it would be something to remember and there would most definitely be a lot more witnesses than there were; he likes to show off after all. Jumping off a building...Well, it's dramatic but memorable? No. Loads of people hurl themselves to their deaths in that manner; there's nothing to define it or make it stand out from the rest. That, Mycroft, was the supposed death of a man who wanted to be forgotten. I don't how he managed to pull it off and frankly, I don't care but I'm willing to wait if he'll still have me."

There were a few beats of silence during which Mycroft processed the information he had just been handed, swallowing it down with a delicate mouthful of whiskey. Finally, he took a breath. "Dr. Watson; it's not often I say this but that was a display worthy of Sherlock himself. Is there any chance...?"

John smiled in amusement and stood up, cracking the stiffness out of his joints. "No Mycroft; I won't work for you. Now, I suggest you listen to this," He tossed an unmarked CD towards the politician. "It's a recording of the last conversation I had with Jim; he never knew I had it recorded but I thought it would come in useful one day. I'll be seeing you again soon I imagine."

The doctor paused by the door and suddenly glanced directly at the mirror. 'Oh, and Sherlock? Don't think I'm letting you off that easily; you're not forgiven yet for chucking yourself off a roof in front of me."

The soft click of a door shutting echoed around the room and Mycroft Holmes let out a shuddering sigh, glancing over to where another door had opened and a familiar lanky figure stepped out hesitantly, glancing at where John Watson had left thoughtfully.

"It seems I might have underestimated Dr. Watson a lot more than I initially thought; I never would have suspected had he not come here. I think beneath that unassuming head there lurks a mind to rival your own, Sherlock." Mycroft commented quietly, having succeeded in regaining his composure. Once you got over the initial shock, it really wasn't that surprising. He had always held the belief that there was more to John Hamish Watson than the supposed open book which everyone else saw.

"It...appears so." Sherlock chose his words carefully, still shooting a prolonged glance in the direction of the departing blogger and Mycroft could almost feel Sherlock's growing urge to chase after John.

"The papers weren't far off with their suggestive hints, were they?" the elder Holmes commented lightly, flicking through the file John had given to him in interest. "Don't even bother trying to lie; I've got photo and text evidence, Sherlock."

"Mhm." Sherlock gave a huffed derisively before picking up the supposed recording. He didn't feel the need deny Mycroft's statement. "He's safer this way, no matter what he thinks. Moriarty's men won't come after him if he poses no threat."

"Yes, but I get the sense that John Watson is a man who could quite easily hold his own. Have you considered the possibility that he isn't the one in need of protection?"

There was no answer, the consulting detective instead tucking the CD into his coat pocket and giving his brother a tight lipped smile. "I'd love to stay and chat, Mycroft, but I've got some criminals to catch."

Sherlock listened to John's recording on his lonesome, barely able to believe that he had got everything so wrong. Jim Moriarty who had shot himself on the roof nothing more than an innocent coerced into doing another's dirty work, his own down-to-earth blogger actually one of the most intelligent men he would ever have the pleasure of meeting. He had to admit though that he appreciated John's little note tucked into the case;

_Sherlock, you nosy bugger! This was for Mycroft!_

John knew him better than Sherlock had assumed, even when he was supposed to be dead.

~~~linebreak~~~

It was three years before John Watson and Sherlock Holmes saw each other again and the reunion wasn't as much of a fireworks display as either one of them had expected.

John had managed to pass the time away with various jobs; working at the surgery, some volunteer work, the occasional case with Lestrade. It helped to keep his mind off the man he no longer knew what to think of. Or at the very least it did until the consulting detective himself appeared in the living room of 221b Baker Street (John never had been able to move away, despite the memories, because he knew Sherlock would return).

"I don't think 'long-time-no-see' is going to suffice." Sherlock's rich baritone cut through John's reverie and startled the smaller man, causing him to drop the bag of groceries he was carrying in shock. Only his army reflexes saved the eggs from becoming a part of the pattern on the floor.

John shouldn't have been so taken by surprise; after all, he had known Sherlock was still alive. But, truth be told, he had given up hope of ever seeing the brilliant detective again, having figured that he had found someone else with which to occupy his time. This was clearly not the case.

"I should punch you, you know." John declared quite mildly, lifting up the bag and trudging into the kitchen with it, laying it down without much care.

"I know." Sherlock answered as the army doctor slowly walked back through, his piercing blue-grey eyes never leaving the weather worn face of his beloved blogger. He sat stiffly in his usual armchair, hands clasped tightly and foot tapping.

"But that would be too cliché I think." John stood himself in front of the fireplace with his arms folded and that eyebrow raised in the expression Sherlock had always referred to as the '_Would-you-care-to-explain-the-eyeballs-in-the-kettle' _look. The tall man swallowed almost nervously, not quite knowing what to expect.

"I suppose so." He answered quietly, feeling almost like a child being confronted by a parent about their most recent attempt at running away from home. He didn't fancy ending up with a black eye or some other possibly embarrassing injury. John was studying him intently, causing Sherlock to shift uncomfortably and he wondered if this was what it was like to be examined by a spouse after they had begun to suspect an affair. It was horribly disconcerting.

"You look ill; have you been eating properly?" John asked abruptly, moving over to the phone. "Does Chinese sound good to you?" And just like that, it seemed they were back to normal, like nothing had ever happened. _Remarkable_, Sherlock mused. _I really have underestimated him. _But there was something still eating away at his mind.

"Did you mean what you said in the recording?" the consulting detective came out with out of the blue, ceasing his nervous twitching and returning John's gaze with curious eyes. "When you promised..._him_ that you'd 'stick by me no matter what', did you mean it?"

Halfway through dialling the number for the Chinese take-away service, John paused, expression thoughtful. "If...if you'll have me." was his quiet answer and Sherlock's mind worked very hard to keep his body from reacting too outwardly, his heart already leaping within his chest as it was. _Had John just _forgiven _him? _He smiled softly.

"I'll have you if you'll have me."

The army doctor returned his smile, moving closer and laying down the phone, keeping the detective's attention focused on his face. "It's a deal then."

The right hook came without warning, sending Sherlock tumbling out of the armchair and onto the floor, one hand clasped to his now stinging cheek. That was going to leave a spectacular bruise.

"I suppose I deserved..." he began, but was cut off unexpectedly by John's mouth invading the usually untouched space on his own, the detective nearly moaning as John nibbled gently on his lower lip and demanded entrance which he was granted without complaint. Fingers were raised to card through black locks and short waves; hands wrapped around shoulders and slid down hips. All in all, it was getting rather steamy for what should have been an affair of tears, accusations and possible violence.

A soft yet familiar cough made them pull apart rather sheepishly, both men having to catch their breath as they turned to see Mycroft Holmes staring at them with a raised eyebrow, leaning on his trademark umbrella.

"I thought reunions after devastating events were supposed to involve a lot of tears and incoherent, high-pitched howling." he commented dryly and both Sherlock and John shared a glance.

"When was I ever 'normal', Mycroft?" the consulting detective asked haughtily, examining a fingernail as if he hadn't just been caught attempting to form covalent bonds with his lips to those of his flatmate's. "Normal is _boring._ What do you want, anyway? We're rather busy; you just interrupted our reuniting."

"I came to see if you'd had the courage to show your face here again. I think I'm beginning to regret that decision..."

"I knew it!" John suddenly declared, the crack of his knuckles echoing around the room (he wouldn't admit it, but his fist was aching after punching Sherlock; it was a while since he had punched anyone quite so hard). "Of course you were bloody well involved with this; I couldn't expect any less. Now, I _would _hit you as well but frankly, I have better things to do with my time," Here, the army doctor stole a gaze at Sherlock who returned his almost steaming gaze with a smirk of his own.

It was amazing how fast Mycroft could turn on his heel and head back towards the door, calling out as he went. "I think I'm supposed to be meeting with the Prime Minister soon, or something of the like. Tread carefully, little brother, the doctor is obviously tired."

"It's odd, that." John said quite matter-of-factly to the consulting detective. "It's perfectly acceptable if it's him snogging Lestrade around the back of New Scotland Yard or, god forbid, exchanging the sort of texts you'd expect to see between two horny teenagers but anyone else doing something even remotely romantic and he's off like a flash."

Mycroft's petulant "Quite!" echoed up the stairs, mingling with Sherlock's rich laughter; one of the nicest sounds John had ever heard. He brought himself to lean against Sherlock's shoulder, tucking one arm around the taller man's waist so that they sat side by side comfortably.

"If you ever pull a stunt like that again," John began calmly, the dark blue of his eyes focused on one of the buttons of Sherlock's deep purple shirt. "You will get a lot worse than a punch because I will hunt you down personally and make you suffer."

Sherlock pursed his lips, looking thoughtful. "Define suffer." he asked in interest and earned himself an eye roll.

"Of course you're a masochist. Now, how about that takeout?"

"Oh, yes, please."

~~~linebreak~~~

"Hello Jim; it's been a while."

John Watson sat in front of a familiar yet unassuming marble headstone in the corner of the graveyard, his mobile laid before him with the opening chords of Stayin' Alive sounding out in a tinny fashion from the tiny speaker. There was nothing special about this marker, nothing to make it stand out from the rest other than the words carved with painstaking care into the white stone:

JAMES MORIARTY: 1976 – 2012

Few people knew of the grave's existence; had it been common knowledge it would most likely have been swarmed by the usual fanatical followers and morbid stalkers. But it was a secret; John's private place where he could speak without fear of being compared to a man who had been so extraordinary, and had longed for nothing more than to be normal anyway.

"He came back with his tail between his legs exactly as we knew he would , even if it did take him three years. In the end, Sherlock Holmes really is one of the most predictable men. You were right about the two of us, by the way, but then again, you nearly always were. Even when you didn't want to be. So, I guess this is the last time I'll be visiting, because life should hopefully be returning back to normal or at least the definition of normal when Sherlock is re-added to the equation. Of course, I'm assuming Lestrade hasn't killed him yet. In fact, that's him now."

John lifted his phone as it beeped to announce a text, his lips curling upwards into a grin.

"According to Mycroft, he's going to have matching bruises; Greg was understandably surprised. I suppose I should go before Sherlock upsets anyone else; his mere reappearance has probably reduced Anderson to tears by now. Bye, Jim."

And with that, he switched off the music and stuffed his hands into his pockets, walking away from the grave with one last tip of his head. Maybe in another life he walked away from an altogether different grave, the grave of Sherlock Holmes, arm in arm with Jim Moriarty but in this reality, he was quite content.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, I suppose I should give a bit of an explanation for how this fic came to be. Whilst watching The Reichenbach Fall, during the point where Moriarty was leaving Baker Street, I had this sudden what if moment in that I thought 'What if John had ran into Moriarty at that moment? What if they had known each other before Sherlock?" And that somehow progressed to the idea of JohnMoriarty...**

**Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed this and I would appreciate it if you could review to tell me what you think. I will try and reply to any reviews left (:**

**XXX Raven**


End file.
